Crown of Lies (Pretty Ruthless Monsters #2)

21. Quinn

21

QUINN

Over the next few days, the Princes step up their patrols of the house until there are eyes on my property twenty-four-seven, constantly scanning for threats.

It’s nice. It’s reassuring.

It’s also suffocating as hell.

I walk into the kitchen one morning, deliberately wearing nothing but an oversized t-shirt. Nico is already in there, and I catch his eyes narrowing as he takes in the sight of my bare legs.

“You know,” I say casually, reaching for a glass and exposing more thigh than I probably should, “it’s really cramping my style having all these guards around. A girl can’t even walk around naked in her own home anymore.”

He clears his throat. “Since when are you such a fucking exhibitionist, anyway?”

“I’m not. I just like a little privacy sometimes. Is that so bad?”

Honestly? I don’t even care so much about the privacy. I like having people around these days. Keeps me from spending too long stewing in my own dark thoughts.

But I’m starting to feel a new sense of urgency now that we’ve thwarted whatever plans The Saint had with that break-in. He won’t stay quiet forever. It’s only a matter of time before he escalates things or sends someone else to finish the job the other guy started.

Someone like Silas, or worse.

I lean against the kitchen counter, sipping my water and watching Nico out of the corner of my eye. He’s trying not to stare, but failing miserably. I almost feel bad for teasing him like this. Almost.

“So,” I say, setting down my glass, “any news on the investigation front?”

Nico shakes his head. “Nothing concrete on The Saint yet. We’re still digging. What about your dad?”

I sigh. “Still digging too.”

And I have been. Every spare moment I get, I’m combing through old records, searching online databases, and reaching out to anyone who might have known my father. It’s becoming an obsession—this need to uncover the truth about what the fuck my dad was up to.

The Princes have actually been pretty helpful, coming with me to follow up on leads about my dad’s past. It’s not helping with The Saint situation, but it’s been… interesting. In a way, I feel closer to him now than I did when he was alive.

We’ve filled in a lot of details about his history. How he started the gang, the principles that drove him. It’s like I’m getting to know completely different aspects of him, a deeper insight into the man I thought I knew.

I’ve been looking into my mother’s side too, but that trail is even colder. She died when I was so young, I barely remember her. Just fragments really—the smell of her perfume, the sound of her laugh. It doesn’t seem likely that whatever’s happening now has anything to do with her, but I can’t rule it out entirely.

I rub my temples, feeling the familiar tension headache coming on.

“There’s still one person I can’t seem to track down,” I say, setting my glass on the counter with a soft clink. “Another old friend of my dad’s. Every lead we’ve followed on him has turned into a dead end.”

I start pacing the kitchen, my bare feet padding softly on the cool tile. “It’s driving me crazy. This guy was supposedly one of my father’s closest confidants back in the day. If anyone knows what was really going on, it’s him.”

“We’ll find him,” Nico assures me, but I can hear the uncertainty in his voice.

I stop pacing and lean against the counter, crossing my arms. “I know we will. It’s just frustrating. Every day that passes feels like we’re losing ground.”

As if on cue, there’s a commotion outside. Nico’s hand goes to his weapon as we both tense. After a moment, we hear the all-clear signal from one of the guards.

“False alarm,” Nico says, but neither of us relaxes completely.

This is our new normal. Constant vigilance, always on edge, waiting for the next move from The Saint or his goons. It’s exhausting, but necessary.

As I head back up to my room to get dressed, I start to worry all over again that we’re running out of time. The Saint is out there, planning his next move. And somewhere, this contact of my dad’s is hiding out, possibly holding the answers we so desperately need.

We have to find him.

I’m at the tattoo parlor, idly sketching out a new design when my phone buzzes. Emmett’s name flashes on the screen. I hesitate for a moment before answering. Things have been a little awkward between us since he walked in on Atlas and me, but he’s been making an effort to get back to normal.

“Hey, Emmett. What’s up?”

“Quinn, we found him.” Emmett’s voice crackles with excitement.

My heart skips a beat. “Wait, you mean?—”

“Yeah, your dad’s old friend. The one we’ve been looking for.”

I set down my pencil, my full attention on the call. “Holy shit. How?”

“Turns out he was using an alias. That’s why we couldn’t track him down before. But we got a lucky break and managed to connect the dots.”

I lean back in my chair, processing this information. It feels like we’ve finally caught a break after weeks of dead ends.

“That’s amazing, Emmett. Thank you.” I pause, realizing how genuinely grateful I am. Not just for this news, but for everything. “I mean it. Thanks for sticking with this, even when things got a little complicated.”

There’s a moment of silence on the other end. When Emmett speaks again, his voice is softer. “Of course. You know I’ve always got your back.”

And I do know. In spite of everything that’s happened, Emmett’s loyalty has never wavered. He’s been there through it all, even when he didn’t agree with my choices.

“So, what’s our next move?” I ask, already mentally preparing for whatever comes next.

“I’ve got an address. We can go check it out if you’re up for it.”

“Definitely. I’ll make some calls and we can meet up here at the shop before we head out.”

I hang up with Emmett and immediately start dialing Nico’s number. When he doesn’t answer after a few rings, I fire off a quick text to him, Atlas, and Killian.

ME : Found Dylan. Going to check it out now. Will update later.

I’m about to pocket my phone when it buzzes with Nico’s reply.

NICO : Wait. We’ll go with you.

I chew my lip, considering. It’s already getting late in the day, and I know Nico and Atlas are busy securing their new temporary clubhouse. It’s important work that can’t be put off.

So is this.

My phone rings. It’s Nico.

“Quinn, don’t go alone. It’s not safe.”

“I won’t be alone,” I assure him. “I’m taking a few of my people with me. You guys focus on getting that new space locked down. You’re gonna need it.”

He’s silent for a moment. “You sure about this?”

“Positive. We’ve been chasing this lead for weeks. I can’t let it slip away now.”

He sighs, and I can picture him running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Fine. But you call for backup the second anything feels off, got it?”

“Got it,” I say, already reaching for my jacket. “I’ll keep you updated.”

I hang up with Nico, feeling an unexpected wave of relief. It’s been a while since they’ve trusted me to handle anything on my own, and it feels good. Like we’re finding our footing again, slowly but surely.

My phone buzzes with a message from Killian.

KILLIAN: Be careful. We’ll catch up as soon as we can.

I nod to myself, typing back a quick message.

ME: Will do.

Then I shoot a text to a few of my most trusted people, asking them to meet me at the shop.

Within twenty minutes, Emmett pulls up, followed closely by a handful of Enigma members. They approach me, and I can see the curiosity in their eyes.

I fill them in quickly, watching their expressions shift from interest to excitement. It feels like old times, before everything got so complicated. Just us, chasing down a lead, ready to face whatever comes our way.

With Emmett staying back to keep an eye on the shop, I take a few of the rest of my crew and head out to a sprawling plot of land on the outskirts of the city. The transition from packed urban housing to peaceful farmland is jarring, and fields stretch out as far as the eye can see, dotted with the occasional barn or silo.

For a moment, all we do is sit and take in the scene. The house in front of us is modest, weathered by years of sun and wind. It’s the kind of place you’d expect to find a retired farmer, not a man with ties to my father’s past.

“You ready for this?” Remy, one of my newer recruits, asks.

I nod, steeling myself. “Let’s do it.”

We approach the house without saying anything at all. The only sound is from the gravel crunching under our boots. I step up and knock on the door, my heart beating so fast I worry for a minute that it might explode. For several long seconds, there’s complete silence. Then the sound of uneven footsteps followed by at least three locks being unlatched.

The door creaks open, revealing a man who looks like he’s been through hell and back. He’s older than I expected, probably a good decade or so older than my dad would be now. An eyepatch covers his left eye, and I notice a slight limp as he shifts his weight.

“What do you need?” His voice is gruff and his good eye lingers on each of us in turn, no doubt sizing us up in case shit hits the fan.

I take a deep breath. “My name is Quinn. I’m looking for Dylan. I believe you knew my father, Jonah Kent.”

The man’s good eye narrows, scanning my face. For a second, I think he might slam the door in our faces. Then recognition seems to dawn

“Well, I’ll be damned,” he mutters. “You’re the spitting image of him.” He takes a step back and gestures for us to come inside. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come on in.”

We file into the modest living room. It’s simple, almost spartan, with well-worn furniture and faded curtains.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says, clearing some newspapers from the coffee table. “Don’t get many visitors out here.”

I take a seat on the worn couch, and the others find spots around the room. Dylan settles into an armchair across from me, his good eye never leaving my face.

“So, you got out of the game?” I ask, breaking the silence.

He nods, absently rubbing his knee. “Nearly died in a job gone wrong. Figured it was time to bow out while I still could. Been living the quiet life ever since.”

I lean forward, unable to contain my curiosity any longer. “Dylan, I need to ask you about my father. Did he ever mention anything about a secret? Something he was working on or hiding?”

His expression darkens at my question. He leans back in his chair, his good eye fixed on a point somewhere beyond me.

“Your father was always working on something, kid. Man had more secrets than the CIA.” He pauses, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “But if there was something specific, something big… he kept it close to the vest.”

I nod, trying not to let my disappointment show. It’s not like I expected Dylan to have all the answers, but I’d hoped for more than this.

“What about Casey?” he asks. “He and your dad were thick as thieves back in the day. If anyone knew what Jonah was up to, it’d be him.”

I exchange glances with a couple of my older guys who have been around for a while—guys who knew my uncle—before turning back to Dylan. “Casey’s dead,” I say quietly.

The old man’s face falls, genuine sorrow etching itself into the lines around his eye. “Damn,” he mutters. “I didn’t know. When did it happen?”

“It’s been a while,” I reply, feeling a fresh wave of grief threatening to wash over me. Not just for my uncle, but for my dad too. I don’t let it show, but damn—it’s one of those feelings that sneaks up fast and sticks around for a while, just under the surface. “In prison.”

Dylan shakes his head, looking truly shaken. “I knew he was locked up, but I had no idea…” He trails off as if lost in thought for a moment. “I’m sorry to hear it. Casey was a good man in spite of the hand he was dealt.”

I lean back on the worn couch, feeling the weight of disappointment settle over me. “I’ve been chasing every lead I can think of,” I admit, huffing out a frustrated breath. “Old contacts, business associates, even some of his old enemies. But it’s like trying to catch smoke. Every time I think I’m getting close, it just slips away.”

Dylan nods, his good eye studying me. He’s quiet for a long moment, and I can almost see the gears turning in his head.

“You know,” he says finally, leaning forward in his chair, “there might be someone else you could talk to. Have you considered Casey’s old cellmate?”

I blink, caught off guard by the suggestion. “His cellmate?”

“Yeah. Those relationships, they can become like brothers. Especially for guys like Casey, doing hard time. He might’ve shared things with his cellmate that he never told anyone else.”

The idea hits me like a bolt of lightning. I’ve been so focused on the fact that I couldn’t ask my uncle directly, I never considered the people he might have confided in during his time inside.

“That’s actually a really good idea,” I say, feeling a spark of hope for the first time in a long time. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

Dylan shrugs, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Sometimes it takes an outside perspective. And I’ve had plenty of time out here to think about things from every angle.”

I stand up, energized by this new lead. “Thank you, Dylan. Really. This could be exactly what I needed.”

He waves off my thanks, but I can see a hint of pride in his expression. “Just be careful, kid. Whatever your old man was mixed up in, he should’ve had a whole bunch of good years ahead of him. Don’t let the same thing happen to you.”

I nod, taking his warning to heart. “I will. And thanks again for your help.”

The mood is light on the ride back into the city, with everyone buzzing about the possibility of a new lead. I’m in the passenger seat and Remy is behind the wheel, with the other three guys crammed in the backseat.

Suddenly, Remy’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “Shit. We’ve got company.”

I look in the side mirror and my stomach drops. Three black SUVs are closing in fast, one on each side and one behind us.

“Fuck.” Instinctively, I start reaching for my gun. “Guys, we’ve got trouble.”

The SUVs pull up alongside us, boxing us in. My pulse races as I realize we’re trapped.

“Ram ’em!” I shout, but Remy is already trying. He swerves, attempting to force our way out, but they’re too well coordinated.

Gunshots ring out, shattering our rear window. Glass sprays everywhere as we all duck down.

“Return fire!” I yell, rolling down my window and leaning out. The wind whips my hair as I squeeze off a few rounds, aiming for their tires.

My guys in the back are shooting too, cursing and shouting as they try to drive our attackers away. But it’s not working. For every hit we land, they seem to have two more cars ready to take its place.

“We can’t shake them!” Remy growls, his knuckles white on the wheel as he weaves back and forth in the lane, desperately searching for a way to escape.

I see an opening and point. “There! Cut across?—”

But before Remy can react, one of the SUVs slams into our side. The impact is jarring, sending us spinning. Remy fights for control, but it’s no use.

We’re forced off the road, tires screeching as we hit the shoulder. The world turns upside down as the car begins to roll.